


from the ashes of everything now

by dizzy



Series: in the half light [2]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-05-14 12:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14769203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy
Summary: a series of stories set after Dan and Phil reach Isle of Man, originally posted in the comments of 'in the half light'





	1. Chapter 1

"It's a bit of a bothy," Phil's dad says, when he shows them the house. They've only been walking for a few minutes, following a dirt foot path from the back of the Lester home down vaguely in the direction of the hills and water. "But it ought make a good home for just the two of you."

"What's a bothy?" Phil asks.

Dan's never heard the word either. They're still walking, each step taking them closer and closer to the front door. He listens to Nigel's response.

"A home for anyone," Nigel says. "For travelers to stay, or workers. My own father had a brother that lived in it for quite a few years when I was a lad. Always smelled so queer - now I know, he was having himself a bit of a-"

Nigel mimes smoking. Dan's fairly sure he doesn't mean cigarettes.

"No facilities," Nigel goes on. "You'll have to come back to the big house for that. But we've got the bed back in there, and it's got a fireplace and running water."

The door creaks open when he gives it a push, no lock on it. They all step in, one after the other.

"It's nice," Phil says, sounding surprised.

It's small, just as Nigel warned them - but Phil's not wrong. The floors are a soft gleaming wood and the walls are the same white brick inside and out. The bed sits in one corner, made with a quilt in soft blues and greens that Dan's never seen before. There's just enough room for a night stand on either side, matching but well-worn with obvious age. On top of each nightstand is a vase with fresh flowers.

It's one room, really, with no proper door dividing it, but a cased opening gives the pretense of a bedroom apart from the rest - which is a small kitchen on one side of the room and the fireplace with a two-seat sofa in front of it on the other. The kitchen is small, the structure of it just wide enough for two grown men to stand side by side in front of. There's a small basin with a tap and empty counter space, two cabinets above and two below. On the counter space is another vase with flowers, and two coffee mugs.

The covering of the sofa seat doesn't match the arms or the backing, like whatever cushions came with it were replaced. Dan walks over and puts his hand on the back of it. From the closer vantage point, he can see that there's a rug in front of the sofa and a small table with two chairs, none of which look like they really belong together.

"Your mums-" Nigel pauses, looking at them. "Was a bit of a project for them, I believe. Kept their hands and their minds busy, believing you'd be on your way soon. Scrubbed it top to bottom and sorted all through that attic finding things to furnish it. If there's anything you're not keen on, be gentle about it."

Phil looks at Dan, like he's waiting for Dan's reaction, almost like he's afraid of it.

He doesn't need to be. "I love it," Dan says, softly.

He doesn't say it's perfect. Perfect was a penthouse with walls made of glass, and all their own things. He can't let go of that yet.

But they've spent the last two weeks, every day since they stepped off the boat, in Phil's family house without a moment to themselves or a moment alone to breathe.

"Well, then." Nigel clears his throat. "Of course, you know no one will mind if you'd rather stay in the big house. But it's yours if you want it, boys."

Dan looks at Phil and meets Phil's smile with his own. "Yeah," Phil says, and he nods to his dad while not breaking Dan's gaze. "We want it."


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes Dan paints.

He starts off doing it with Phil's dad. He knows he let Phil push him toward it. He knows Phil pushed because he was concerned, because he knew how hard the adjustment was on Dan.

It's not like it wasn't hard on Phil. It's not like Phil hasn't spent just as many nights as Dan unpacking the layers of resentment and pain and regret at this fucked up plot twist of a lifetime they got handed.

But Phil found an outlet faster than Dan. Phil writes his feelings, he fills notebooks with stories both true and fiction. Dan tries to convince him that he should let other people read them, the made up ones at least. They're fucked up and violent and sometimes devastating and truly, truly good.

Phil says they're just for him, right now - just for him and Dan. He says he writes because it makes him feel better, and that's why he wants Dan to paint.

Dan is almost mad at how right Phil is.

Phil's dad has enough painting supplies to last a while, collected over years of hobbyist art. He doesn't mind sharing, in that selfless way that Phil's family have opened up so much of their lives to Dan and his mum and various others that showed up with nowhere to go. Dan wishes he weren't someone that needed so much generosity, but he's still glad for it. For the family, for the shelter, for the food - and for the paint.

He's not good at it. No one would mistake it for art. But it's cathartic, to dip his brush in and watch the color bleed angry stripes. The market doesn't stock new canvas often, but Dan doesn't care. He'll paint layers on top of dried layers, almost aggressively enjoying the ability to make whatever he felt the last time he painted disappear under the heaviness of a new shining wet slather of color.

"I want to hang one up one day," Phil says. He's cozy on their little sofa in front of the fireplace, looking over his shoulder as Dan tries to wash half-dried paint off his hands.

Dan's been painting outside, only coming in when the sun set and the air grew too cold to stay out.

"Phil." Dan's voice is deadpan. "They're awful."

"They're not," Phil insists. He's absolutely lying, and he can barely keep a straight face. "They're abstract."

"I'll abstract your mum," Dan says.

"I mean." Phil's mouth twitches again. "If you actually told me that was supposed to be my mum, but abstract, it's not as though I'd know any different."

"Fuck right off," Dan says, and disappears half into their bedroom to change his clothes. His Star Wars pajama pants are looking worn, but they're still the most comfortable thing he owns.

He wants that right comfort now. Painting leaves him feeling emptied out in a good kind of way, like something in his mind is soothed. He wants his body to match now; wants warm clothes and his spot beside Phil in front of the fire.


	3. Chapter 3

"What are you doing out still?" Phil asks, his voice cutting through the dark.

Dan shrugs. Phil probably can't see it, but he keeps approaching and takes a spot on the grass beside Dan. The water crashes brutally against rocks but it's a steep drop below them.

Phil hates being this close to the edge. Dan loves it. He loves lingering on the edge of permanent rest, but it's just a daydream.

He's worked too hard to still be alive to let it go now.

*

He lets Phil pull him back into the cottage eventually.

It's their home now. White brick with weathered, flaking red paint around the windows and on the door. It's on the back of the Lester property, and Phil's dad tells them that once upon a time he had an uncle that lived in it but it'd gone into disuse after he died.

The cottage is warm with the fire Phil built. He's got something nice smelling boiling on a pot in the fireplace. It's not a scented candle, but they make do.

"I saved you some dinner," Phil says, nodding to the covered plate on the cable. "They had pizza at the big house."

The big house - Phil's grandparents house. They're not around anymore (gone before the storm, gone in the right and proper way after a long full life) but it's bursting with people who needed a refuge.

Like his mum. She'd had months before Dan and Phil arrived to be folded into the Lester clan. Now she gardens with Kath and plays chess with Nigel and works in the clinic in town most days. She's not a doctor, but degrees don't mean as much these days.

She found her place here. Dan's still struggling to find his. He misses feeling like he had a purpose.

He tugs the cloth off the plate.

Dominos. He also misses Dominos.

Not that this pizza is awful. The cheese is sparse and the crust is crumbly, but it's got a homemade seasoned tomato sauce and a variety of colorful vegetables.

He thinks of the shitty pizza made back when they were still alone, and takes a big bite. It's definitely better.

*

"The fire's nice tonight," Phil says.

They're burrowed up together under a heavy blanket. Winter's truly set in. A year ago this time, they were making so many plans that seem so unimportant now.

"Yeah," Dan says. He shifts and tucks his head in his favorite spot, against Phil's neck. The mattress is soft but he likes this better, even if it's less comfortable.

The bed was a gift from Phil's parents, frame and mattress both rescued from the attic at the big house and walked the five minutes by foot down the dirt road between them.

Phil strokes a hand up and down Dan's back. "You'll come with me to the gardens tomorrow?"

"Of course," Dan says. The greenhouse isn't where Dan would have chosen to work, but he's still got some issues letting Phil out of his sight.

Maybe it'll be a problem one day. But Phil isn't complaining yet.

*

Outside, the wind howls over the water.

Dan closes his eyes and pictures the clear sky. He pictures the full moon. He pictures the stars. He does his very best not to think of purple crackling overhead, and eventually he falls asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Dan still has the sleeping pills.

He doesn't know why. It's been almost a year since they evacuated. Things are good on Isle of Man. He's got people that love him. He's got Phil, and their new life together, their home together.

But in the back of his mind, in his darkest moments, he thinks about how they still don't know where the storm came from and there's no guarantee one day it won't spread.

He wanted the pills as an option. He can't convince himself the need for that option is gone completely. He likes the control of it. He likes knowing that he can still have something on his own terms, even if that something is death.

As long as Phil never finds them, it's fine.

*

Phil does find them.

Dan walks in from a checking on their little garden. They've started small, leaks and courgettes and squash. It's nothing like the garden their mums have back at Phil's family home, but it's a start. It's their start, and they both tend to it diligently.

But maybe, Dan thinks, today wasn't the day for diligence.

Phil is sitting on their bed, the pill bottle in his hand and tears down his face. "You can't," he says, voice shaky. "Dan, you can't."

"I won't," Dan says immediately. He drops down to his knees in front of the bed, in front of Phil, and reaches for the bottle.

Phil won't let it go. He shakes his head. "No."

"It isn't - it's not. I've had them since, since before we came here. I was never going to..." Dan trails off.

Because he's lying.

He was never going to do something with them - as long as Phil was safe. As long as Phil was alive.

But he can't put that on Phil. He can't tell Phil that.

"I won't," Dan says, voice firm. "I forgot they were even there."

Another lie.

"Get rid of them," Phil pleads.

Dan doesn't hesitate. "Okay."

*

They don't destroy them. That'd be a waste of medicine someone can use. But Phil puts them on the kitchen counter, and Dan knows without needing to ask that they'll be gone come morning time. Phil will take them to the clinic just into town.

Dan can't voice how frustrated it makes him feel, how guilty and disappointed in himself and underneath it all how fucking scared he is. He doesn't know how to stop being scared, but the fear he feels of the unknown isn't worth the fear on Phil's face when he looked at Dan while holding that bottle.

But Phil holds him extra tight that night.


	5. Chapter 5

Night time is eerie here. They have solar lamps that let out weak light, flickery and casting shadows everywhere. They're a fantastic find from Phil's dad and Dan is grateful but also he hates it sometimes because half-light is almost scarier than low light.

But he has to admit that it really sets the mood when it's late at night and Phil is kissing down his body.

*

They have more sex now than they ever did in their previous life.

Maybe it's boredom. It's not like they can just turn the television on after a long day, or occupy themselves on opposite ends of the couch scrolling reddit.

But it's more than just entertainment. It's connection and affirmation and a pure dose of _fuck, we're alive, we're both here, we made it_. It's driven by a deep sort of gratitude for each other that shows itself in filthy beautiful ways.

*

Dan's fingers dig into the duvet under him and his hips drive up. It's cold outside but he feels hot from the inside out, sweat tacky on his skin. He has no idea how long they've been going, how long Phil's been working him over with his lips and his tongue and fingers slicked in oil crooked just right inside Dan.

He's so close to losing it. He's close to coming, fingers curling and heels bracketing Phil's ankles, and he knows Phil can tell because Phil drops his head down further and moans a sloppy sound around Dan's dick. That finger works faster, tap tap tapping in a pulsing beat right where it feels best.

He moans, because he can be as loud as he goddamn wants here, and at least that's a plus. He moans and grunts and curses and says Phil's name in every type of pleading tone he can. Phil's palm cups his balls and presses up and his mouth slips up to just the tip with a burst of suction that takes Dan apart.

*

Phil sits back up on his heels. There's come and spit glistening on his chin and his hand is flying over his dick.

Dan knows he's close enough that he doesn't need help, so he slides his hands around and cups Phil's ass and squeezes, urging him on with quiet encouragement, telling Phil how gorgeous he is, how hot he is, how perfect his dick is.

Phil comes with a pained sound, face screwing up in almost a shocked expression - mouth open, eyes squeezed shut. Dan watches the thick spill of white from Phil's dick shooting up Dan's own stomach. Once he's done Phil's fingers stay wrapped around himself, squeezing to urge the last of the aftershocks.

"Fuck," Phil says, slumping forward a bit against Dan but being as careful as he can not to smear the mess. "Fuck."

"Get the water and the cloth," Dan says, because spare linens don't come easy and Phil's come is dangerously close to dripping down the side of his stomach as he still heaves for breath.

They've had to sneak their laundry in to clean up stains one too many times. Phil groans but he leans over the side of the bed and grabs what they'd already set out before they started, a glass of water and a well-used cloth he douses wet and uses to wipe up.

*

They both time to get up and wash their hands, turning off the solar lights before crawling back between clean sheets.

They sleep well after sex. They're still not used to living somewhere without blaring sirens and city sounds, but the night time quiet and distant crash of water feels less ominous when they're too fucked out to sleep.

"Love you," Phil says sleepily, tucking himself into Dan's side and wrapping both arms around him.

"Mhm," Dan sighs, rubbing his cheek against the top of Phil's head. "Love you, too."


	6. Chapter 6

There's a little girl that lives down the road a bit from the Lester house. She's got bright red curls that bounce when she runs and she's always singing.

Dan sees Kath staring at her now and then with a certain sad look on her face. Dan almost want to go to her, almost wants to offer her some comfort. But he doesn't because he can't begin to wonder what's in Kath's mind. He knows when she looks at that little girl, she's thinking of Cornelia. He knows that thinking of Cornelia means she's thinking of Martyn as well.

They're not brought up often. When they are there's always one refrain: _They're fine._

He's only seen Kath cry over it once, and even though the tears that's all she had to say. They're fine, and she knows, because she's got her boys in her heart. She'd know, she says, if one of them was gone.

And the thing is - maybe they are. They weren't in England when the storm hit. They were on holiday, and maybe - maybe, maybe. A world of maybe and if that brings Phil and his family comfort then Dan won't take that away from them. Hope doesn't help him; he needs to process reality in order to feel like he can move ahead. So he side steps the topic just like he side steps talking about his own family with his mum. People aren't forgotten, and he'd rather mourn than feel like he's in a constant limbo lacking closure, but some wounds are too raw just yet.

Sometimes when he knows he's alone and there's no danger of Phil walking in, he puts his headphones in and lets her sing to him about stormy weather and the world coming to a still. Her voice washes over him and he lets the memories play out in his mind: Cornelia punching him in the arm with her tiny yet powerful list and telling him to grow some goddamn balls. Her foul mouth, her unmistakable personality, he misses her for the person she is and the role she's played in his life. The way she's been there almost every step of the journey for him, from the first time he met her as an overwhelmed teenager - when she looked at him she treated him like the adult he wanted to the night they got drunk together on a half-empty tourbus somewhere in America to the last time he saw her, the way she squeezed him tight and told him not to kill her goddamn plants.

Maybe one day she'll walk right in the door and kick his ass for letting her plants die. But Dan's not holding his breath.


	7. Chapter 7

"You know what I like about life now?" Phil asks, voice muffled. He's shuffled down so far his head isn't even on a pillow, and his face is pressed against Dan's side, just under his armpit. "No alarm clocks."

It's true, Dan thinks. There's never a morning meeting to get to. They never have to hope blindly that Phil hasn't forgotten his Oyster card. There are no traffic jams. No text messages to hurry them along when they inevitably run late.

"Don't tempt fate," Dan says, scrunching his fingers through Phil's hand. "Your mum'll show up with one we've got to wind by hand."

Phil groans. "I'd disown her."

"Mmm." Dan turns his head, and makes an agreeing sound. He could so easily fall back asleep. But... "We do need to get up."

"Dun' wanna," Phil says. He ducks his head even further, so only the very top of his head pokes out from the top of the blanket.

"We told your dad we'd help him go into town," Dan reminds him.

"Town?" Phil's head pops up from the duvet cave. "Can we get some of the good bread?"

"Sure," Dan says. "And more butter."

In another year, the Lesters will be able to make their own butter and milk enough for everyone. For now, they supplement with trips into town and trades for what they have an abundance of. Bank accounts don't mean much these days, but being able to feed your family does.

*

Manx winters are a brutal thing. There's no snow yet, but the wind bites along the hills where they are. Dan bundles up in his heaviest coat to tread outside and check on the chickens.

"Hello there, Ironically Named Susan," Dan coos, squatting just inside the fence. .

Susan tilts her head at him, then decides she's got better things to do with her time. It's Ironically Named Winston that shuffles over to see if Dan's got anything interesting to give to her.

"You're a little shit, Susan," Dan informs her, dumping feed onto the ground to keep them busy while he checks the coop for eggs. Enough for breakfast, and none of them cracked, nice.

*

"Staying in this morning, yeah?" Phil asks.

He's not even put proper clothes on yet, still in his pyjamas as he checks to see if the water's boiling in the fireplace pot yet. Water to make coffee with his little french press is always first on Phil's agenda in the mornings.

"Yeah," Dan says, leaving his jacket on the hook by the door.

"Breakfast in bed?" Phil asks hopefully.

Dan rolls his eyes. "You slug. At the table, like civilized people."

Sometimes they have breakfast with Phil's family. Someone's always cooking there. The energy demand from the sudden surge in population on the island is strong, but aside from the brownout times there's electricity and someone's always cooking.

But some mornings - like this morning - they just want to sit at their cozy little table in their cozy little home and sip their coffee and eat their egg scramble with toast and exist in the peace and quiet with each other before they have to face the rebuilding world.


	8. Chapter 8

Phil has pictures.

He'd brought them stored in between the pages of his favorite book, kept safe on their journey through hell. He leaves them there for months after they move into the cottage. Dan's not sure why.

But he doesn't ask, not out of respect for Phil but because Dan's not ready to see them yet. Everything feels precarious in a painful way, and the temptation to live in memories instead of the moment can be strong.

*

Phil comes home with a cloth bag on his arm.

They'd both started out the day together, but Dan's mum wanted to go into town and invited him along. He likes his long walks with his mum, now. She tells him all the gossip she hears secondhand from the other people in the house and when the conversation runs by they just walk side by side in silence.

But he doesn't like being away from Phil for too long, even when he knows Phil is nice and safe with his own parents. He's been laying on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling with his headphones in, tense without meaning to be until the door opens.

He sits up and lets his shoulders slump in a brief burst of relief when Phil walks in. "Hullo," Phil says, bracing himself with one hand on the back of the sofa and leaning over to kiss Dan. "What'd you buy me?"

Dan rolls his eyes and tugs his earbuds out. "Maybe I didn't buy you anything."

"Maybe," Phil says. He lets the bag drop down his shoulder and puts it on their table. "But you did."

"Some of those chocolates from the fit girl who definitely tried to ask you out," Dan says. "A couple books from the trade."

"And?" Phil prompts.

Dan rolls his eyes. "Yes, I got you more coffee."

He also has two scones carefully wrapped in cheesecloth in the cabinet but he knows better than tell Phil that if he wants to have them for breakfast in the morning.

"Yay!" Phil does a little wiggle dance. He's not above walking five minutes in the morning just to get his first cup of the day, but it's nicer to make it at home. "I got something, too."

"Yeah?"

"My mum had these in one of the spare rooms," Phil says, and pulls a few mismatched picture frames out. "And I thought - I have some photos. From... our flat, that I took when - when we left. I think I'd like to hang them up."

"Yeah," Dan says. He knows the ones Phil means. He'd watched Phil put them in the suitcase when they packed up. "Go get them. We can do it right now."

*

Their last Christmas company party, the group of them all crowded around to fit in the frame.

Martyn and Cornelia at Cornelia's fortieth birthday.

A candid from Greece, Dan with his skin all glowing golden and Phil swearing sunglasses with smears of not-quite-rubbed-in suncream on his nose.

Jamaica, when they were younger, when they had no idea what the world would one day become.

A photobooth picture from Japan. The memories pile one by one on top of each other until every breath feels like healing pain, like the sting of peeling off a bandaid only to find the scab underneath is almost gone.

*

They hang them up all over the cottage, a few in the bedroom and a few over the fireplace, one framed photo of just the two of them that doesn't have a hanger propped on the mantle.

"Wow," Dan says, because he hadn't realized exactly what a difference it would make. "This place really looks like ours now."

"It is ours," Phil says, sliding his hand into Dan's and resting his head on Dan's forehead. "It's home."


	9. Chapter 9

"You're doing it all wrong," Dan says, reaching over to reposition Phil's fingers on the keys of the piano.

Phil just laughs. It's not the first time or even the fifth time Dan's had to do that today.

 _There are so many of them_ , Phil often whines, and Dan knows he does it mostly just to see Dan smile and roll his eyes.

But today Phil just says, "Sorry, sorry," and focuses harder, trying to follow what Dan's guiding him to do. He's not a natural talent, but he's not actually that bad, not after all the hours they've spent sitting at the piano in the downstairs lounge at the Lester home. They've almost worked their way through all of Symmetry of Muse, and Dan's grudgingly agreed that next they can move onto piano versions of every song on the Buffy musical.

It's not like they don't have time. That's really all they have, here. Time and each other.

*

Dan notices when his mum walks in the room, but she doesn't say anything to him and he doesn't want to break Phil's concentration by speaking. He's peripherally aware of her movement, of her sitting on the sofa behind them.

"Did I get it?" Phil asks, when he's tapped the last note out.

"Perfect," Dan says.

"Another one?" Phil asks.

"Let me do one first," Dan says softly.

Phil looks curiously at him, but he nods. He doesn't stop looking curious as Dan starts to play a song he's never played for anyone else before, one he taught himself back in that first London apartment on that out of tune keyboard, during some of those days where he just needed to surround himself with things that made him feel something.

This song has always made him feel something. It makes him feel - safe. Protected. Loved. It makes him feel like he's six years old again, sitting in his mum's lap while she sings softly to distract him from the sting of a skinned knee or the turbulence of a tantrum.

"Oh," his mum says softly. Phil looks over his shoulder, only just realizing she's there. "Beautiful Boy."

Dan doesn't respond. He's lost in the song, wanting to get it right, needing to get it right for his mum. He feels Phil's hand on his thigh, warm and reassuring, unmoving until the final note when he softly says, "I think I'll get a coffee. Dan?"

He's leaving it open in a way that's on purpose, Dan knows. If Dan doesn't want to be alone with his mum he can just get up and go with Phil. Instead he shakes his head, and then watches Phil walk out of the room.

He's not surprised when his mum sits beside him. "You were a beautiful boy," she says, reaching out to plink her fingers against the keys in front of her. The song rings through the quiet until she says, "You still are."

"Mum." Dan rolls his eyes.

She just laughs and bumps her shoulder against him. "Shush. I'm allowed to say that."

"Sure you are," he says, only partly sarcasm.

"Play it again," she requests.

"Okay," he says, voice soft. He takes a second to flex his fingers then the first notes float through the air.

She starts to sing along.


	10. Chapter 10

The first warm day of spring feels almost wrong for how beautiful it is.

Dan feels almost wrong for how much he wants to sit and soak up the sun, for how his whole soul feels warmer basking in it.

*

They're having a picnic outside.

Phil's mum planned it. She wants to enjoy the flowers while they're in bloom. There's homemade beer Phil's dad's been brewing himself and homemade ice cream and children running around the yard shrieking happy sounds.

Dan's eyes are closed and his stomach is full and he's got his head resting in Phil's lap, letting Phil stroke his hair and play with the curls while having a conversation with Dan's mum. They're talking about turnips and radishes, what might take to the island best.

Food is always on the mind here, on everyone's mind. The government says that it'll get better, but Dan doesn't know when.

He's not sure he even cares. There are plenty of things he misses, but the more time passes the less he remembers why.

This life isn't so bad.

*

He doesn't mean to fall asleep, but the next time his eyes flutter open the air around them has gotten crisper and the sun is just beginning to set.

"Sleepyhead," Phil says, smiling softly down at him.

His mum's not here anymore. He wonders how long Phil stayed perfectly still just to let Dan get his rest.

Dan turns and wraps his arms around Phil's waist, smushing his face into Phil's stomach. Phil laughs and cups the back of his head, stroking down his neck. "Hullo there."

"Hullo," Dan says, muffled.

"Are you ready to leave?" Phil asks.

Dan sits up, yawning and stretching. "Is the party over?"

"They're going inside to play games," Phil says. "But I didn't know if you wanted to..."

"Let's stay," Dan says, surprising them both with how little hesitation there is in his voice.

"Are you sure?" Phil can't help but sound excited.

Dan leans over and kisses him. There are still people around, but he doesn't care. He doesn't have to care. He spent five months earning the right not to. "I'm sure. Come on, I'll kick your ass at scrabble."


	11. Chapter 11

There's never anyone on their little patch of beach at night. It's too rocky to be a good late night stroll, too isolated and too dark. 

Perfect for them, though. They're close enough to comfort that they can see the smoke from their own chimney atop the nearest hill, a long and winding path up but with their eyes out toward the water it feels like another world. 

It is another world. But tonight isn't for that. 

Tonight is for this: 

Kissing. Greedy hands, shoving clothes aside. Laughter and moans muffled, just in case. 

They've soiled this shore dozens of times now. The rocks won't spill their secrets. The ocean never stays put long enough to care. 

It's not even that cold tonight. Cold enough that maybe one layer of clothes will stay on - can't have Phil complaining his delicate little nipples are going to freeze and fall off, after all - but enough for them to abandon shoes along the shoreline and walk across the sand and pebbles without impending frostbite. 

"Hurry up," Phil says, impatient. The time for foreplay has come back gone, back in their warm bed before they got an itch of wildness about them that sent them grinning and giggling and horny as they half-ran the well-worn trail. 

(It's half a spark of something wild, and half the fact that the water can wash them clean after. If there's one luxury Dan would like to have back, it would be a washing machine.)

"I'm hurrying," Dan says, two hands cupping firmly against Phil's ass and hauling him in. He loves the feeling of Phil's body all up and down his, all the hard and soft parts of him, the way the kiss goes desperate as they grind together. 

It won't get them far, but it feels fucking nice. 

"Turn around," Phil says, grabbing onto Dan's hips to manhandle him to exactly where Phil wants him to be. 

It's that view again, that pristine moon casting reflections on the rippling water. It looks dark and terrifying and majestic and then Phil's hand is pushing Dan's shorts and his trackies down to Dan's hips to wrap warm fingers around Dan's cock. 

Phil's mouth is on his neck too, because Phil plays dirty like that. Dirty and beautiful and it's good that Phil doesn't make his knees weak in a literal sense anymore because it's better like this, when he's standing solidly on his own two feet and feeling the world just shift around them. 

"You're still gonna fuck me, right?" Dan asks. "Even if I come like this." 

"Yeah." Phil kisses his shoulder, then bites down lightly. "Want you to come like this first though." 

It's easier that way sometimes; they'll have to do it standing up, nothing to brace themselves against, Phil can't really hit the right spots that way. But Dan has no complaints. He curls his toes into the sand and then one arm above and behind him to wrap around around Phil's neck. 

He wishes they were naked. He wishes the sand were softer. He wishes a lot of things, always, because his mind never stops rolling and spinning up dust in his mind. But he looks out across the water and fills his eyes with that and his heart with Phil and lets the pleasure course through his body. 

He lets out a long, high sound when he comes onto, spilling first onto the sand and then onto Phil's fingers. 

When Phil's impatient hand disappears Dan reaches down to squeeze himself for the last few shivers of sensation. He can hear Phil fumbling with the oil bottle and then the blunt pressure of fingers in his ass. The stretching is fast but it's enough and then the pressure is hotter and heavier, the stretch is more, and Phil's grasping his hips again with slicker fingers this time and fucking in, in, in. 

It feels good. Not arousing in a direct way, but the fullness is nice and listening to Phil take what he needs is satisfying, and the moon is still big and bright and the water is still deep and large, and he's content with everything. 

Phil wraps both arms around Dan's stomach. His thrusts barely take their bodies apart now. Dan covers Phil's arms with his own and pushes back against him, trying to give back what he can. Phil finishes quickly after that, coming inside with a gut-deep groan of satisfaction. 

It amuses Dan how much Phil turns into a guy about that, finding something primal-appealing about it. 

The water afterward is icy on their overheated skin, but Dan feels fresh when he steps back onto the shore and into the towel Phil is holding out for him. They shiver and kiss some more in the moonlight until Phil finally ducks back, wet hair plastered to his head, and says, "I'm freezing and my back is twinging now." 

"Come on, old man," Dan says, stealing one last kiss. "Let's go home."


End file.
